“There was a little girl born one day in July in Washington D.C., USA.  Her mother died giving birth to her, so it was all up to the father.  It was their first child and he had just started a new job.  He tried to take care of his newborn daughter and also do his job, and for the most part he did well enough for about two and a half years.  But he started to get promoted quickly and had more responsibilities.  He started drinking at night when he came home from work and the little baby still didn’t sleep all the way through the night.  He would get so angry at her for crying at night that he would slap and choke her, any violent means to get the brat to shut up.  He must have nearly killed her about four dozen times.  Even now, one of her earliest memories is when she was about three years old and he kept slapping her face, and roughly gripping her little arms, and his fingers around …”  Unconsciously, I pressed a hand to the base of my neck, as if the imprint left by his fingers was still there.

“A Korean couple moved next door when the little girl was around four-years-old and they could hear noises every night.  They knew of the father’s predicament and would help out as much as they could, but he insisted to take care of his daughter after work, picking her up and then drinking himself half-unconscious.”  My body trembled slightly as the images that haunted me in nightmares flooded my head.  Youngmin silently wrapped his arms around me in a comforting hug.  I laid my head against his chest and continued.

“It went on like that for a little under six years.  Do you know how traumatic that is for a young child?  Most people would think that it would be too young of an age for anyone to remember.  Quite the opposite.  When you’re that age, your brain soaks everything in and retains it.

“Anyway, the father, he had drunken a few shots before coming to pick his daughter up and the woman next door knew something was wrong.  She tried to hold on to me, but he ripped the child away, throwing the lady back against the wall.  When her husband returned home a little while later and saw his wife collapsed on the floor, he finally called the police, able to push past his accent and convince them that it was an emergency.  They showed up at the house and the father was beating his daughter mercilessly.”  I shuddered.  That day was the clearest memory.  “He had been holding her up by the shirt and throwing her against the wall, hitting her face and stomach.  Pain was everywhere, she felt limp and when they pulled him way, she dropped to the floor in a heap.  Blood seemed to run out of her body in rivers and she was taken to the hospital.  After four days, she woke up to find that adoption papers had been signed and she was given to the Korean couple.

“It took a lot of rehab and therapy, but eventually the little girl was able to stop waking up at night screaming and began interacting with other children.  Her adoptive older brother was a big help.  He took care of her wherever she went.  Everybody loved him so when they found out that she was a part of his family, they didn’t bully her as much.  He couldn’t take her to school since his started earlier than hers, but he picked her up every day.  He helped with homework and even taught her more to get ahead of the others.  So by the time she was in sixth grade, she had the intellect of a freshman in high school.  By the time she was in eighth grade, she was taking AP classes and college courses online.

“By the time she was eight, she legally changed her name.  She wanted as little connection with her old life as possible and to fit in with her new family more completely.  That is why she now has a Korean name in spite of her American features.

“Her new father’s business took them around a lot within the United States, and they didn’t stay in one state longer than a year.  Because of this, she never was able to get close to anyone, and it grew harder for her to trust people and to open up to them.  Instead of playing with other kids her age, she took up the arts, finding a peace in drawing.  She never showed anyone her artwork, not even her family.  In fact, they didn’t know about it for the longest of time.  Her parents put her in dancing, hoping it would be a way for her to make friends.  That failed, but she loved dancing so they kept her in it.  In sixth grade she started up cross country, as if it finally gave her an excuse to run away from her problems.  It was as if running was a drug that numbed her mind, and she was addicted.  Sometimes she would run so hard at practice and meets that she would collapse from exhaustion and had to be rushed to the hospital a number of times.  The girl saw that this worried her parents so although sometimes she would still run hard and long, she never let it get out of hand that she would pass out from it.

“At first, she didn’t care about her parents’ Korean heritage because they Americanized their home so as to make their adoptive daughter feel welcome and secure in her home.  They only spoke English, never Korean.  But as time went on, the girl found herself becoming more interested in other languages, finding a sort of passion and pride in being able to speak multiple languages.  She learned Japanese on her own for a while, again keeping it secret from her family, and took Spanish in school, though she didn’t like that as much.  When she turned thirteen, she decided she should start learning her family’s native tongue.  She hid it from her family because she thought they would disapprove of it since they tried so hard to keep their home life Americanized.  Eventually they found out and it was around this time that they received the news that they would be transferring areas again, this time back to Korea.  The girl started taking Korean lessons online and her parents spoke it in the home more.  The girl’s problem was that she thought if she could master speaking it, she would be fine for the most part and then could concentrate on reading it.  But she found that it when she looked at the Korean characters, she only saw Japanese and could find no pattern.  That’s what put her behind, and despite being smart above average, she was placed in her regular grade level because of the language barrier.

“Then she met a handsome boy at school.  She had wanted to try and make friends with the kids in Korea, and she had wanted to try with this boy.  He was kind and helpful, but she was wary to trust him.  There had never been a cute boy who had shown interest in her other than to bully, and when one time he had put his arm around her, she thought he was playing with her.  So she tried to push him away, but she found herself trusting him more and more as she got to know him better.  It scared her because it happened in such a short amount of time, but the will to make friends and to belong burned inside her and slowly she began to open up.

“She doesn’t know when it happened, but the girl found that she completely trusted this boy and he had become someone special to her.”  I paused in my story, not sure how to continue.  I tilted my head up to him.  He was staring down at me tenderly, his dark eyes glittering silver in the moonlight.

“I suppose there is more to the story, but it isn’t finished yet.  I’m waiting to see what happens.”

Youngmin held me tighter, squeezing the breath out of me.  But it was a good kind of breathlessness.  I clutched his jacket lapels in my fists, shutting my eyes tight.  After several minutes had passed, he finally pulled back enough to look at me.  His tender and sympathetic expression changed to that of astonishment.  Cautiously, he reached out a hand, his fingers caressing my cheek.  They came back wet.  Shock spread throughout my body, paralyzing me from the inside out.  I reached up with my own hand and felt the other cheek and found it was stained with tears –my tears.  One part of the story I had not mentioned was that I hadn’t cried since I was four, the urge to do so beaten out of me.  Suddenly seeing that watery substance on my finger tips shattered something inside me.  It was like the wall I had spent the last nine years building up and strengthening crashed down by just a few drops of salty water.

And I cried.

Rivulets fell from my eyes, my throat clenching and unclenching with my soft hiccups that I tried to restrain.  Youngmin held me against him comfortingly, his arms warmly enveloping me.  I cried hard, but silently, letting the pain slip slowly away with each tear shed.  Small, choked sobs escaped my throat on occasion and each gasp released another painful memory, reliving it for a short moment and then it was gone, vanished and leaving behind only a shadow in its place. 

After some time had passed, the tears ran dry once again and I was left with aching eyes and a sniffling nose and sore throat.  My body felt completely drained of energy and yet I felt so rejuvenated.  It was as if a burden had been lifted from not just my shoulders, but my whole being.  I felt free in a way that a prisoner who had only seen darkness and coldness experienced light and warmth for the first time.  All that running, all that time I spent alone drawing, all that time I tried to escape from everything was nothing compared to the relief I found in finally sharing my story, sealing it with my own tears.  It seemed ironic that for so long I’d tried to avoid the pain of my past and yet it was exactly that pain that helped me move on after facing it.

I looked up at Youngmin, wondering what he was thinking about behind that poker face.  “I’m sorry about that,” I apologized sheepishly for my crying spell.  “I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”

Youngmin cupped my face in his hands, wiping away the remaining tears that still lingered with his thumbs.  “Don’t apologize.  I’ve been waiting so long for you to finally open up to me.  I’m glad you told me, and I want you to know I will always be here for you.  Always, no matter what happens.”  He placed a tender kiss on my forehead and I closed my eyes, reveling in the comforting feeling of his lips on my skin.

“You look exhausted,” he murmured, pulling back.  “Let’s get you home.”

Finally, her story.  I want to hear your thoughts.

Thank you kristii for being my 13th subscriber.  It really brings me joy to see that number. 

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter and please forgive me on my spelling/grammar/punctuation/wording mistakes.